


Star Wars Rebels: The Vernissage

by SWAG_77



Series: Get Thrawn In Star Wars Rebels [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: M/M, Multi, Observations, SWAG 77, Star Wars Actors Guild 77
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SWAG_77/pseuds/SWAG_77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrawn in Star Wars Rebels fan-fictions</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Thrawn Accords on Mandalore II

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a larger story: [Get Thrawn In Star Wars Rebels](http://getthrawnin.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thrawn is invited by Emperor Palpatine to tour the Death Star. When he arrives he learns that the Empire has built a technological terror that can be easily dismantled by powers that can analyze it with simple tactics. But, he thinks he is on the station to take a demotion for his failures in the fleet. Failures committed by those who serve him that hate aliens. Rather than placing blame, he felt he will confront Emperor and Lord Vader and return to Chiss space. But, speaking Vader, he has other plans.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only Captain Thrawn is able to invade and conquer Mandalore to Imperial rule. But he had to serve at a regent for Mandalore before a Moff was selected. What he discovered during his rule, is they Mandalorians, were more creative and inventive that what was let on by the rest of the galaxy. He took one Mandalorian child under his tutelage and taught her art and its interpretation, something forbidden by the Mandalorians and the Chiss, which he was. 
> 
> MUST READ this part first: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/6691987/chapters/16380211>

((READ THIS PART FIRST: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/6691987/chapters/16380211>))

 

A 4 year old Sabine Wren escapes the clutches of the stormtroopers and runs after Bo-Katan. “Bo. Bo! Manda'buir! Gedet’ye! I’ll be good. I promise...” The Gonzati ship takes off from the fuselage of the Star Destroyer, _Entropy_.

She trips over her feet as the stormtroopers race to grab her after to keep her out of the shield hole. Sabine shrieks as kicks the stormtroopers as they dump her in front of black boots. With tears streaming from her eyes, she looks up slowly to see a blue man with red eyes as it was a Chiss named Captain Thrawn.

His hands beside his body, he crouches down to her eye level as he muses about her tears in a calm strong voice. “A Chiss child never cries, but you are Mandalorian. Do Mandalorian children cry like you?”

“Nayc,” Sabine dries her tears as she wipes them with her arms responds slowly.

Thrawn mashes his lips as his red eyes flicker watching this tiny being in fear and hurt the only person she saw as family leave her. He hands the tiny cinnamon complexioned child his handkerchief to wipe her face. Carefully with focus concentration, he wipes away all her tears, as he focuses on revealing her face. “You know, Sabine, you and I will speak Galactic Standard Basic if we are going to communicate with one another for our success. Understand?”

He watches Sabine to observe how much she understands as he muses. "We have no idea how much Mandalorians educate their children formally since Satine Kryze died." He slowly stands looks at this small girl. "My name is Captain Thrawn. Can you say it?”

“Troan,” she said face in the Mandalorian language.

“No. Listen carefully to the sound of my voice, watch my tongue.” He points to his ears and his mouth. “T-H-R-A-W-N. Try that.”

“Tranwn,” her eyes widen in fear she said his name wrong, then sings her next comment without thought. “Troan kebiin, epo hukaat!” Sabine grabs Thrawn's hair and messes it up with a giggle.

Thrawn cannot believe she put her hands on his hair as he combs it back. He blinks several times as it occurs to him, that he understands her Mandalorian comment. He speaks slowly to communicate to her in Mando'a. “Ori’jate. I do have blue skin and my eyes are red. I am a Chiss from the planet, Csilla.” He hopes his response was passable Mandalorian that a 4 year old could understand.

Sabine’s face drops to cry again, but she stops when she looks up at Thrawn and watches the white in his red eyes flicker that follows her moves. She moves to her knees as she sees him follow her moves. Then she rushes to hug him with a snort laugh and smiles. “Tawn. Al’orad Tawn. Vor’e.”

He reaches down to take the small child into his arms and lifts her up to his face. He realizes her tiny body clung to him with complete trust as her heart rate slows. He holds her in his arms as if she is a fragile sculpture with care. He looks at her silky black hair that felt a lot like his blue-black hair. A Mandalorian and a Chiss in terms of humanness were not that much different rang through his mind. He closes his eyes to feel the heartbeat of scared child who requires his knowledge and expertise. He nods committed to jumpstart and save this one Mandalorian child from the warlike brutality of her culture. As his hand rubs her back to soothe her, he realizes the stormtroopers set their blasters on her. He opens his eyes in anger as he rises. “It is okay. We saved another child from galactic poverty. See. The Empire does good. Stand down.”

The stormtroopers nod and lower their weapons.

“The first thing we must do is get you checked by the medical droid to see if your immunizations are complete, and then for a bath, have you ever taken one?” Thrawn dotes on her as her tiny head tilts then she plays with his sigil badge. “No. Hmm? You are in for a treat.” He cares her off to the ship’s infirmary while his men watch him in awe. “What? You have never seen the Empire save poor, destitute children before? It is what we do.”

The men quickly turn back to their stations not to question the Captain.

 

*******

 

“Again. Recite the musical notes with their corresponding wavelengths again and start in the visible spectrum,” Thrawn chides a 10 year old Sabine before a holographic board that plays a note, and then shines a color to wait for her to answer correctly. Thrawn watches Sabine's eyes drift outside to the veranda as a soft colorful wisps from a flowering plants land gently in the rooftop garden. He stands a long moment until she notices him, which jerks her attention.

“Violet, 665 angstroms. D sharp?” her voice quavers.

“Wrong.” Thrawn’s voice was flat. “We’ve gone over this many times, Sabine. Why is this difficult for you to understand?”

“It’s E, sir. 665 angstroms is E and violet,” her meek voice speaks.

He closes his eyes to say to himself, _there can be no error_. “All analysis requires accuracy the first time, Sabine.” He exhales as he places his hand into his face. “I suppose it is how you Mandalorians are, defiant. The Imperials constantly think that.” Memories flash in his mind when he was her age on Csilla as he could recites entire musical chords. He remembers his musical recitals on assigned instruments. When he was her age, he knew organ and viol. The he studies how Sabine reaches out to the wisps with his memory of his preference of electric instruments, such as the red ball jet keyboard and the quetarra guitar. Her freedom to chose. His drilled choice to serve all. Mandalorians freely chose to serve, or not, as he watches her eyes drifts to the veranda. “Sabine, I need you to focus.” He leans into her and follows her daydream to the outside of the sunny day on Sundari, Mandalore. He places his finger underneath his nose to study her and her daydream.

She catches him staring at her as she jolts again in her student desk.

He conceals his laughter of her random movements of sneaking a dream. “Formal lectures are not the only way to learn music and art. Sometimes you have to get up and do it. Grab your easel. If you won’t do your music, then you will paint your song. This time I want it like Deumozama Artus and his concerto treaties.”

Sabine grins in glee. “Yes, sir!” She darts to her quarters to grab her easel and her tiny pots of paints. She races to meet Thrawn on the deck of Sundari capital building. There were various sculptures and art pieces from Thrawn’s private collection assembled on this rooftop. The astromech droid follows him as he lifts his hand like a conductor and moves it down for the official “Artus” piece.

The first few notes Thrawn inhales to ready for the crescendo as it picks of the next adigetto. Then turns to light notes from the string instruments and the woodwinds. Sabine set up to start her live painting to Artus concerto in C-minor. She uses the Chiss sigil of a sunburst pattern as her sketch mark and then transitions into the Mandalorian colors prevalent to her clan. She hears each note, assigns a color that corresponds to the note and moves her brush in a stroke for the form. The final form she paints varies, but Thrawn critiques it and knows her mood after the flash performances. The music changes its pace and pitch with more horns, which confuses Sabine. Instruments with no structure, but many sounds. She paints in odd splashes of color as her brush strokes flare into the canvas.

Thrawn walks to evaluate her progress with his hands behind his back as another crescendo infuses into the symphony and he closes his eyes to absorb the wonderment of the score. He bites his tongue when he opens his eyes to see Sabine’s art. “A wisp of lilies, Sabine?” His voice incredulous. “You caught the color, and the form, but the colors misrepresent the wrong musical notes in the score. Artus was a composer on Ailon. Based on that bit of information, his work would only consist of D-minors and B-sharps.” He lowers his head in disappointment as he blames himself for failing as a teacher.

The astromech droid chirps with a new holomessage from the Empire.

Thrawn waves his hand. “Play it, please.”

The astromech projects an image of Admiral Conan Motti whose disdain it was to speak to Thrawn. “Captain Thrawn, the Empire asks to you to report to Coruscant to your new assignment on the Outer Rim. You have been reassigned. Mandalore now has a Moff, a human. Your duty to Mandalore is over.” The holorecording cuts off.

“No!” Sabine’s eyes widen as she grabs his leg. “You can’t leave me, Al’orad. I’ll do better at art and music. I promise.”

Thrawn absorbs the holorecording as he stands there calculating what that could mean to him and his service. Outer Rim? Why there? He ponders that when he realizes Sabine is at his boot crying, again. “My Sabine, you have grown these past 6 years, and it has not been easy for you. I have a duty and I am expected to serve in whatever capacity my leaders ask me to do it and in the best of my ability.” He picks her up and looks at her with a smile. “I expect you to do your best, and you will attend the Imperial Academy on Mandalore starting tomorrow. I will be your patron.”

“Patron. A person who gives financial support to a person,” Sabine nods her head, proudly.

Thrawn raises his brow in pride and starts to tickle her. “Oh? So I see you have been studying your vocabulary, at least. Very well. I hope some Chiss logic has sunk into that Mandalorian defiant thick skull of yours that I see all the time.”

Sabine wiggles around avoiding his fingers and smiles as he holds his cheeks in her hands. She takes a very serious tone. “Are-are you my father?”

Thrawn stops tickling her. He arches his brow as the loss of light fades from his eyes. After a long silence, he speaks. “No. I am not. I am your friend, Sabine. Always. You must understand that I am always your friend.”

Sabine takes her eyes off him and searches for understanding. His height towers over her to be a playmate. Other parents do not play like he plays with her with lots of art, painting and music. His skin is blue and his eyes are red. By the way he treats her, she ticks a mark off that says parent, but he said he was not her parent, and that is why he was leaving her. Sabine told herself that. Everyone she has known, leaves her. It makes more sense, that Thrawn would leave her, too. “I understand, Sir." She pauses. "You help another girl like me.”

“There will be no other girl like you, ner'Sab'ika, ever,” Thrawn answers, quickly.

“Are you leaving like ner’Manda’buir, did?”

Thrawn frowns at her easy shift to Mandalorian. How did she remembers about her past trauma. How she can flip and use Mandalorian after being taught Galactic Basic Standard? In fact, sometimes he felt if he taught her the Chiss language, Cheunh, Sabine would be able to speak it, fluently. His impression of how well her memory held in such atrocities are what pressed him to teach her appreciation of the art. He knew that art will heal her past pain, much like it does for him. But it was her recall that he admires in her. His reassignment separates his Mandalorian protégé from his protection. She was not mature enough for him to take her with him. Humans mature much slower than Chiss. The best he could do for her was to be her patron. “Not entirely, my Sabine. I will be gone in body, but you can send me holograms of your art anytime. I want you to keep up with your studies, obey your teachers and when you graduate from the Imperial Academy, I will attend your graduation ceremony and you will be under my command. Understand?”

“Understood.” She complies with his order. “Vor entye, Al’orad Thrawn.”

He winces when she reverts to her mother tongue. _The Mandalorian never washes out._  He sighs because the next Imperial leader on Mandalore will not be as forgiving to them and will exterminate them. Somehow, Thrawn knows that Mandalorian genocide is impossible, but the Empire’s humanocentric xenophobic fears would hunt down Mandalorians, like the Wookiees on Kashyyyk, the Twi'leks on Ryloth, and the Jedi and kill them all. They fortunately not smart enough to come to Csilla.

An aide from his ship walks to Thrawn to notify him of his ship's departure. He held Sabine’s hand and grins as he slowly walks to his ship. The first time he has moved slowly to his military transport not wanting to leave. He kneels before Sabine and stares into her eyes. “My Sabine. Promise me you will be strong and not cry when I have gone?” His voice breaks, infinitesimally.

“I promise,” she leans into him and hugs him tightly.

He held her tightly and closes his eyes as a tiny tear falls. He releases her, spritely with a proud grin, then walks to his ship.

His aide looks to him. “Sir, will you be alright?”

He clears his throat. “Yes. Let’s go.”

The ship lifts off the platform and he waves to his Sabine that 10 year old girl who stands next to an astromech droid. They turn to ants, then into outerspace to the Star Destroyer hanger. As he arrives to the Forward Command, the fleet jumps to lightspeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a piece which will cross between both Bo-Katan, Sabine and Thrawn story fanfictions. How else will Mandalore be under Imperial rule? Only Thrawn was to establish that.


	2. Iconoclast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrawn is invited by Emperor Palpatine to tour the Death Star under construction. When he arrives he learns that the Empire has built a technological terror that can be easily dismantled by the enemy with simple tactics. However, Thrawn thinks his presence on the station is to take a demotion for his failures with the fleet. Failures done by those Imperials to sabotage his leadership because they hate aliens. Rather than placing blame on them, he will confront Emperor and Lord Vader for his resignation, and return to Chiss space. Then, after his tour of the Death Star, he speaks to Vader, and then, the Emperor who have given him a different mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like this? Support us bit.ly/ThrawnStarWars

The starship shuttle, _ICONOCLAST_  glides into the hanger bay of the Empire's secret base, "The Death Star". It is a large build, near a planet, which black soot snakes around the planet’s stratospheric winds. The soot originates from the Death Star as its construction toxic waste and exhaust  pumps and dumps the poisonous gases into the planet's atmosphere. This shifts these greenhouse gases to cause the planet to be unlivable.

The shuttle door opens as the chief occupant, a high ranking Imperial exits and stands as his nose crinkles from the foul stench reeking from Death Star construction burnt metals. As he grabs the rail down to the floor, he stumbles as the area quakes. He speaks into his wrist band the following observations,  _“Unstable gravometrics on a ship this size?”_

The workers ignore his presence as they rivet transparisteel walls in high position with the aid of large float droids. Droids scurry across the hanger floor as stormtroopers maneuver to guard their posts. The Imperial grimaces from the disorganization and speaks more about his observations, “Imprecise calculations to set the orbit from the foul stench of the planet to the construction atmosphere.” He takes a handkerchief from his inside pocket of his uniform and covers his mouth. His blue skin and red eyes do not show his strangulation from the smell. As a Chiss named Thrawn,  he turns to his ship’s squad, who are also Chiss to determine if they were aware of the stench. They nod in agreement. Suddenly, they all quickly cover their ears from a clarion blare. A loud sensor alarm. _“Toxins,”_ Thrawn remarks into his wristband as he moves to the security podium to deactivate the sound. Thrawn surveys the area and the workers busy themselves without concern. The stormtroopers did not budge from their posts.

Thrawn puts his hands behind his back and eyes his men to arm themselves. He walks toward an exit to make a note of the incidents in the hanger. His thoughts focus on the discussion of new military project and strategic goals of the Empire with the Emperor. Since Mandalore, his orders did lacked optimization and disenfranchisement. Thrawn is Chiss and Chiss do not complain, but the Empire requires discipline from the leadership with the few skirmishes they have encountered with a criminal insurgent force that indicates Jedi leadership influences. These concerns bubble in his head as calculations to fix this unequal equation with every possible scenario to defend his actions to the Emperor. Another factor to consider is the Emperor's apprentice, Darth Vader. From Thrawn's last communique,  Vader will be landing on the Death Star within minutes. Many Imperial officers who met both the Emperor and Darth Vader tend to disappear except close confidantes. Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin is one of them. “I should have made those calculations with that rubric.  I should have used the other battle strategy at Batonn.” He muses to himself.

“Sir, we have we have identified the holospeeder car 723,” announces a squad member.

“Good. Thank you.” Thrawn replies, nonchalant automatic response as his mind reels through his calculations.

“Sir, I am sending you the scheduled itinerary to your holo wristband. A squad will escort you through your tour, and then you will meet at the Throne Room.” The lights move across the Chiss HUD as the information translates into the Chiss language, _Cheuhn_. Thrawn orders his Chiss soldiers to only speak Cheuhn for their own personal protection. Imperial translators had not made the programs to translate.

Thrawn presses to examine the holoscreen from his wristband as it scrolls through his activities with no logistics. His red eyes glisten as they show little surprise. _“Maps.”_ He speaks into his holoband as it records his note. As he passes a large hall, his eyes dart to the final pallets of shield generators and turbolasers being built at the Death Star equator. Thrawn places his finger under his nose as he holds his chin in wonder of how the large monstrosity propels itself through space. His anticipation was to see how the sphere propels itself through space while on his tour, if that is what the Emperor and Darth Vader truly have in mind for him. He recalls his last mission with the Empire and while he fulfills the Imperial objectives with the best Chiss training he had, there was more politics involved in the Empire. It frustrates him. In the Chiss Ascendancy, his government views him as aggressive and against their "peaceful" ways. They accuse him of murder without due process. He only wants to achieve a military objective without regard to the lives loss. By the time the Empire found him in exile on a remote planet, he defeated the entire squad and jumped aboard a ship to fly back to his sector. But one Imperial officer begged him to stay.

If his past Imperial mission is a demotion, Thrawn thought, he will take his punishment in stride and lead a subsistence life near Chiss space, protecting it from invaders. He follows his men with a brisk walk when they halt, weapons drawn, aiming at his greeter, who is very late to their rendezvous.  Two stormtroopers accompanied her "bounce" in gleeful steps that dances next to Thrawn. Was the scheduled tour a social call rather than his review of the Death Star and military inspection?

“Grand Admiral Thrawn, welcome to the Death Star Platform. Pardon our construction zones, we work tirelessly to protect the galaxy from all threats and terrorists,” her voice sings as she grins with straighten and whiten teeth made to appear more human, and her lekku or head tails wag as if she dances her way in the Death Star repulsorlift. “Ready for your little tour, um, yeah, Sir?”

“Of course, cadet,” Thrawn disabuses himself from lashing out at the cheerleader and youthfulness of his greeter. He walks past the labor, most of them Wookiees and other alien from conquered worlds of the former Confederacy of Independent System or Separatists. Aliens that serve as Imperials were few as most Imperials were human. The aliens peer to see a high ranking Imperial Naval Officer in uniform, who is blue skinned with red eyes, a Chiss. He taught himself to ignore their gaze. Many of the laborers that slog on the hangers and docks stop and watch him in awe. He can hear them whisper "Is that a Chiss?" as he walks past them. It was as if he was meant to see only aliens, and not humans on his tour. The Twi’lek cadet catches his eye over her exuberance for a military tour on the Death Star, and prompts Thrawn's inquiry. “How long have you been stationed here, Cadet--?”

Her eyes light as her head tails pique that she had his interest. “Cadet Kore Taa, Sir,” She salutes and clicks her heels.

Thrawn slight grin analyzing her military machinations. “Have you received orders for any missions under your commanding officer, yet, Cadet Taa?” His mind churns as to where he last heard that surname.

“Right now, I am with Imperial Loyalty Office to encourage the workers.” She pauses. “I’m a proud servant of the Empire,” she prattles on with her social schedule as she grabs the rail when the gravity becomes unstable. Thrawn catches her and pushes her aboard the hovercraft to fly through the Death Star platform.

Thrawn looks over the stormtroopers behind him and little security in the alien section. _“Delays in comm,”_ spoken into his holoband and analyzes the Twi’lek that bounces into the hovercraft who seems to be less concerned with security. The oddness of the dichotomy is another mental tick mark he notes. Thrawn’s hesitancy rests on how not all workers from the laborers to the Emperor that seem lax in security protocols for a battlestation, like the Death Star.

The hovercraft jerks as Thrawn, Kore Taa and two stormtroopers take off into airspace to line drive with other hovercrafts and supply transports. Thrawn’s conceals his emotions and takes mental notes unable to record in his holo wristband. _The grey bars with rivet structures of durasteel and transparisteel that match in length with an uneven flush. A concussion missile can rip through the hull. The windows lack 100 ply separation versus the 50 ply of its construction._

Thrawn nods courteously to the Twi’lek who rattles the superficial histories of the galaxy to him without permission with a brief squeal of the battlestation’s best attributes. Her hard sell appears to be a forced rehearsed, which was poorly presented. As they turn the bend, he sees human Imperials and stormtroopers beat Wookiee laborers. They bludgeon one. Thrawn realizes that the hairy beasts are too docile for this kind precise engineering work. _“Vargaari would be better suited as workers if you could mind control them,”_ he speaks into his holo wristband, while Kore's dull tone drone on unbothered by Wookiee punishment. Thrawn studies her and realizes her background as he interrupts her speech. “You are the daughter of the famed senator, Orn Free Taa of Ryloth, aren’t you?”

“Huh? What? No…I mean…yes. I’m one of his children. My mother was his eleventh consort,” her obnoxious laugh flutters like her head tails.

Thrawn's brown furrows as he finds her behavior strange when he realizes that it could be the planet’s toxic cloud in the new orbit the battlestation maintains. “Tell me, how many orbits has the station moved since you’ve been here?”

Kore’s childish shrugs reflects her nonchalance. Thrawn recognizes her euphoria, a characteristic of acute dioxis gas toxicity. Kore had no idea that her eyeballs had rolled back into her head and she slurs her words. The hovercraft bump into a tunnel where Kore slings into Thrawn's arms with a loud chortle. When the hovercraft's headlights activate, they almost fly head on in front of other hovercrafts and weave between them and dodges others. Kore tries to grab the stick to gain control, but laughs wildly with a grin as the stormtrooper knocks her away. His eyes spark rage as he attempts to yank the hovercraft stick from her, but by then, the craft was stabilized, and suddenly, they enter the restricted area that glows a soft fluorescent green. A wide berth of space opens as a million tons of crystals in vibrant colors from light green to deep purple light up the area. “Kybers?” Thrawn's mouth agape. "I've never seen so many in one place in the entire galaxy."

“Yes, and we are getting more day by day from our hyperspace lanes from the Perlemian trade route. You know about these crystals, Captain - I mean - Admiral Thrawn?” Kore purrs not minding where the craft drifts.

Thrawn grabs the stick and stops the craft mid-air. As he examines her, he realizes her inebriation. “KARK! She’s punch drunk!” He rips her from her seat and orders the stormtroopers to hold her. “You! Watch her. I want to get off here because I've seen enough.”

The hovercraft rounds to a corner. The stormtrooper holds Kore tightly and as she attempts to fight back. "Captain! What about the tour?" She bleats.

Thrawn narrows his eyes to show her he had enough for his inspection. "Cadet, you are relieved of your duty," in a stern but calm voice. His holo wristband buzzes him every minute with alerts of too much neurotoxic chemicals, which can hurt several species including Chiss. He inhales deeply to gather his remaining air in pride, because Chiss toxicity limits are higher than most sentient beings. He examines the engineering structures that lead him to the top of dish when he realizes that the huge hole is where the kyber crystals will be set to lead to the private chambers of the Emperor. "It would be hike," he states, but he had to get there.

The hovercraft parks several meters from the Emperor’s abode as its grand design glistens with red and black marble against the green light of the kyber crystals. Slate obelisks dot the entrance into the hall as the large durasteel doors that touch the floor to the ceiling remain shut. Imperial Guards with their Force Pikes are suppose to guard the entrance, but they were missing in action. Thrawn's mind reels that if he had been set up to be assassinated. But why a flippant Twi'lek cadet? He probably should kill everyone around him, but he releases a huge exhale decides to spare their lives. “Take her to the infirmary and return to wait on me.”

The stormtrooper unsure if heard Thrawn accurately. “Sir?”

Thrawn's gruff tone rarely seen in Chiss as he chases down an Imperial astromech droid and throws him into the hovercraft with orders. “I am Grand Admiral Thrawn code 021297791 and I order you to fly them to the medical sector.”

The droid toots in compliance once it realizes the identity of Thrawn.

As for the stormtrooper, his elation to finally see an Imperial officer to seize control from a wild crises. “Yes, Grand Admiral, Sir!” He drags the cadet to secure her into the seat, and orders the astromech droid to fly the hovercraft to the infirmary.

As they disappear from the distance, Thrawn unbuttons his uniform to remove a handkerchief to wipe dripping sweat from his decollete after his hovercraft accident. He shakes his head from how bad the problems he’s observed on the Death Star construction and calculates how much these problems were his problems. He fixes stray hairs from his forehead as he looks down from the balcony to survey construction. Alone, the sound was silent without the bustle from the equatorial trench - another problem. He walks a long gray grated galley plank that overlooks the green kyber crystals. The glow intoxicates him and blurs concentration. He stops and places his hands on his hips as he huffs. He looks at his holo wristband as its characters continual scroll not reaching any stable measurements. One number appears briefly as he speaks, “One percent oxygen?” He thinks about the toxins and how they may affect him without a breathing apparatus or helmet. The site of red and gray marble seem to disorient him.  He reminisces one of several military Special Forces tests in Chiss space. The voice of his trainer echoes in his mind as he pushes young recruits further along the obstacle course in zero oxygen environments. He grins to himself that all that occurred before he was an adult 8 years old. His red eyes burn like fire and his belly aches in pain as he arrives to the Emperor's alcove. He feels the flood of oxygen pervade the area and inhales in the clean air as it trickles down his lungs filling out his bronchi heaving out the nasty air from his lungs. He repeats his breathing moments several times.

Then he feels a sting rip his back as a force pike from an Imperial Royal Red Guard pokes him. Thrawn unmoved and slowly rises to his feet as the Imperial guard primes his weapon. He glares into the red helmet as his hands rise to surrender.

“How did you get here?” The Imperial Royal Red Guard stunned as the first time seeing a Chiss.

Thrawn hears all the words and examines the build of the Imperial Guard and his red helmet as his mind speaks. _“Small enough to take down by carotid collapse choke and grip,”_ he thought to himself. _“The angle of thrust from the force pike suggest he is in pain from his thoracolumbular fascia tear based on his lengthy stance. A pressure point to that area should disable him seconds before his partner comes for backup.”_

“Did you just come from that gangplank? It’s near vacuum, no air out there. Who are you?”

He better answer the Imperial Guard in a near normal voice, a bit raspy from the lack of oxygen. “I am Grand Admiral Thrawn summoned by the Emperor Palpatine at his bidding.”

The Imperial Guard rises to face him eye to eye. “There was no air out there. How did you?”

“Cadet Kore Taa, the Twi’lek girl, took me this way and I assumed,” Thrawn decides to play dumb to see how much the Imperial Guard would believe.

A long silence exists between him. Thrawn could see the guard’s helmet was verifying his presence with Thrawn's code cylinders. Then the guard straights in shock as his voice quavers. “Uh, Sir, uh, you were to use the south entrance, not the north, as you can see it is under construction, Sir.” The guard visibly nervous with the slur of his words and his hands shook while opening the door.

Thrawn could utterly destroy him with his own physical force, or leave that to the disciplinary hierarchy. However, as his mind clears as he breathes clean air, his concerns resonate on his punishment for cutting his losses in an useless battle that lost three Imperial frigates in a firefight with Rebels and former Separatist Holdouts near planet, Batonn. He straightens himself to a command position and accept his fate as an Imperial officer, which includes execution, though he thought it draconian. Of course, he could assign blame to his commanding officer that superseded him who ignored his observations, because his fleet admiral withheld Coruscant communications. But assigning blame is not the Chiss way and the starships were under his command. He catches his mind wandering as he stares off into the distance past the Imperial Guard and he comes back into real time. "The Imperial hierarchy decides action, not me." His thoughts betray him.

The Imperial Guard tilts his head and asks the Chiss, again. "Sir? Shall I take you around the hemisphere to meet the Emperor?"

“That would be unnecessary. Show me where I am supposed to be, exactly?” Thrawn’s red-in-red eyes crease with a pleasant smile.

The Imperial Guard gives infinitesimal noticeable sigh of relief in his exhalation, immediately unlocks the huge doors to the Emperor’s Throne Room with one black chair that overlooks a huge window above a tube that is made for a laser. “Sir, if you quickly go to the anteroom down to that location, and stand inside there to wait for the Emperor.” Thrawn proceeds before the guard stops him. “Uh, Sir? Please don’t come this way again or let my commanding officer know I let you through here. I'm dead as it is anyway.”

Thrawn frowns confused by his statement. “There seems to be a lot of fear of dying to serve aboard the Death Star.”

A small balk-chuckle emits underneath the red helmet of the Imperial Guard. “We all serve at the leisure of the Emperor.”

“Of the Empire,” Thrawn nods then walks through the throne room, which he notices the sparse black soot decor with a booth chair and a holotable and he makes his way into the anteroom, aware of the prying eyes of the Imperial Guard. When Thrawn enters the anteroom, he hears the double clank of the huge metal doors and the whirs of the locks behind him. He places his hands behind him and studies his surroundings once more.

 

***

 

Thrawn sees a few brand new control consoles with clear plastiques that cover their new electronics as his sense of smell returns. He turns to a large trapezoidal window that shows the fleet maneuvers of the Star Destroyers and transport ships in silence. He reassembles his uniform quickly from his reflection in the window to make himself presentable and commensurate of an Imperial officer and Grand Admiral of a starship. He presses his holo wristband that seems to reset its function and scrolls through the images as he ponders his concerns of his tour of the Death Star. He ruminates on if he should tattle on Grand Moff Tarkin, which could place him to serve duty on this technological terror. Thrawn ever so slightly grimaces at the dislikes of the place, which includes Tarkin’s doctrine of fear. The Tarkin Doctrine forces sentient beings into submission for the Empire. Thrawn knew it is a poor strategy, one that will lose the people and their loyalties to the Empire. Especially after his tour. “It will backfire,” he muses silently.

Then the hairs on his neck rise as he feels an eerie presence behind him.

The sound of air respiration releases, and then uptakes one cycle. Thrawn turns to see a tall, menacing black robed figure. It is Darth Vader, the second in command of the Empire. Thrawn had seen him from afar and in the Emperor's Throne Room on Coruscant, but never up close. Vader's methods were brutal, but he slays his enemies.  Such tactics are a means to an end. Vader is a Force user by his mannerisms, and he is a Sith, like the Emperor. Thrawn’s only interaction with Force users directly were Jedi, and one nearly choked him to unconsciousness. The strange creature on Atollan made him angry, Kanan Jarrus ran away from him and the boy, Ezra Bridger, nearly killed him on Lothal to cause his defeat. Thrawn did not fear the Jedi. He did not fear the Sith. Fear is a pointless emotion as Chiss military training drills into him to not overreact to fear. His expectations of Sith and their subversion requires longer study, time which Thrawn did not have.

Thrawn deals with the Force users like complex works of art in motion. His appreciation extends only to their usefulness from afar. But Thrawn has never seen Vader's mechanical suit, up close and Darth Vader is a masterpiece.  He is a cross between man and machine. He survives in the suit but his Force powers exact from it. The chest buttons keep him alive for his physical nature, not his Force nature. Thrawn observes his aura of the color of burning red-orange flames – a color of rage, which seems such a pity, because Vader appears to be trapped in his suit as monster to level fear on all those who cross him, but desires to be good. That is when it dawns on Thrawn that Darth Vader was not who the Empire has come to know, he was a good person, like a -- Jedi?

Thrawn shakes his head of those thoughts, Jedi would not do what Darth Vader does. But between the two of them, they stood, Thrawn with his hands behind is back with raised brows and Darth Vader with crossed hand near his mid-section. Thrawn turns to him without emotion and nods. “Lord Vader.”

“I see your tour of this station is complete, Admiral. Thoughts?” His vocabulator reverberates through the air.

“My Lord?” Thrawn’s lifts his brow as if his disciplinary hearing had commenced.

“Your thoughts. Of this station. I can sense them...all of them.”

Thrawn feels an internal grin as Vader gave him controls to this conversation, which was more predictable. Moreover, the Sith Lord's pattern of respiration indicates an interest in his opinions. “Yes, I know,” he looks at Vader’s naked organic eyes through his visor. “The Emperor and you are Sith, practitioners of the dark side of the Force, correct?” He turns back to the large window overlooking the ships as his right arm crosses over his torso and his left hand moves his index finger under his nose while goes back into deep thought. In his nonchalant pensive thought, he asks another question with deep earnest. “However, you, Lord Vader, your mannerisms are like that of a Jedi’s and quite unlike that of the Emperor’s.”

Darth Vader unsure of Thrawn’s line of questioning. “Explain.”

“Your cordiality. Your walk. Your parlance. It’s like a negotiation for you as you reach for consensus with your subordinates,” Thrawn analyzes the movements of the ships in space.

Vader stands next to him as he respires to await his response.

After a long moment of silence, Thrawn voice has added irritation. “Pardon me, Lord Vader, might I inquire about something that perplexes me?" An even longer pause as a large Star Destroyer floats by in space. Thrawn turns to Vader with direct eye contact. "Do the problems aboard this battlestation annoy you, too?”

“How? How did you know I once was Anakin Skyw-- ?” Vader chose to evade the second question. The inflection of his words fill with pain and masochism. The thrill is subtle that Vader enjoys pain infliction to cure past problems. “My transformation into the Dark Side is how I reconcile my past, Admiral.”

Thrawn did not let on he read the secret hologram of Darth Vader from the Jedi, that he was a little boy from Tatooine, named Anakin Skywalker. While some individuals, knew of Vader's childhood pain, their goal seems to be to dangle it in front of him to humiliate him.

Thrawn’s line of questioning causes Vader to pause when he realizes the second question with great interest. Curiosity from what Vader senses in Thrawn.

For the moment, Thrawn ignores Vader’s non-answer and proceeds to his main concerns of the battlestation. “Just like a work of art, the greatness of this station has beauty. But this beauty has numerous flaws. For now, they’re blemishes that will only become apparent when the station is complete and fully operational. And by that time, these flaws will turn into huge gaping holes that will be too difficult to ignore. An artist must take it upon himself to learn from these setbacks when they are small and retrace calculated steps to correct any blemishes. My tour guide missed these small flaws, whereas I easily notice them as glaring artifacts that will worsen in time.”

Darth Vader slows his respiration as he listens. “What would you suggest?”

Thrawn turns to look directly into Vader’s eyes. “My Lord, if I can see these flaws, our enemies can see them, too. They might find weaknesses to unravel this art quickly slapped and woven together to destroy the entire piece.”

“I see.”

“But the Imperials will not listen to either of us,” his sigh of resignation has more to do with his frustration of Imperial bureaucracy, than a complaint. The memory of Orn Free Taa's offspring by dioxis gas shears his mind. “Our enemies will undoubtedly learn of these flaws and when they do, if I were to ever be stationed here, I would have an exit strategy with clear means of evacuation.”

A comlink alerts Thrawn for the meeting with Emperor Palpatine as Imperial Guards enter the anteroom to admit Thrawn.

“My Lord, may I suggest that I am only critiquing art. Of course, all Imperial builds matter,” Thrawn’s voice light and airy as he searches for a facial emotion, than his deadpan Chiss emotionless face.

Vader speaks after a long silence. “All art matters, Admiral.”

Thrawn nods and pivots to enter the Throne Room to meet the Emperor.


	3. The Emperor's Throne Room Aboard The Death Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan that the Emperor has for Thrawn and his promotion.

The door closes after Thrawn as Darth Vader stands and watches him enter the throne room to be in the presence of Emperor Palpatine seated in a large black console chair. Thrawn sees an old fragile man with boils and wrinkles. _Chiss did not age like humans_ , Thrawn thought. _That’s if Emperor Palpatine is human._

“I am,” Palpatine’s sinister voice echoes throughout the throne room. “And I can tell you, Chiss that I am a Sith Lord, imbued with the dark side for a very long time,” his swarthy smile slithers across his grey wrinkled mouth.

“My apologies, my Lord. My thoughts seemed to have strayed,” Thrawn’s red-eyes lighten and slowly a mischievous grin enters his face for the first time after being around humans for a long time. He notes to himself to suppress his personal opinions and presents himself respectably before the Emperor.

“My guards tell me you walked across the catwalk in the absence of oxygen to arrive here in my throne room,” his grin widens.

“Yes, my escort was lax in her duties.”

“She will be dispatched for her oversight. Afterall, she is alien. I do not extend preferential treatment to anyone, nor do I reward failure. The Empire requires superior candidates for Imperial officers.”

“I agree and understand, my Lord,” Thrawn’s voice unequivocal in how to manage the lack of diversity in the Empire.

It made him eager to get to the meat of the discussion the protection of the Empire. Talk of Imperial diversity was boring rhetoric. Thrawn believed that good military personnel must be qualified to do their jobs and it should be their best without the demands for representation or diversity. To Thrawn, most aliens that serve the Empire were only there for their title to splay across their planets rather than their duty to the Empire. His assessment of their actions or inactions appears in their responses to his questions. He found aliens require coddling and handholding. Thrawn felt that was beyond his job description.  

While it saddens him that aliens fail to live up to standard expectations of the Empire, the Chiss could easily fulfill that need. If he were to integrate a few Chiss, his near-human species as his Imperial aides to him, he knew efficiency would increase several-fold. _Chiss never complain_. He could reach out to promising candidates as an opportunity to serve under his leadership. He muses about how the Sith work with anyone and the Imperials only work with humans who are often too emotional. Humans segregate themselves further by skin complexion color, eye shape and body variations. Thrawn thought, train a few humans that have faced discrimination, and perhaps, he would have the force he needs to defend the Empire. Then, Thrawn sparks to attention when he realizes his thoughts betray him again.

“You may select the squad you need, Admiral Thrawn. But, first let’s discuss a mission you must complete for the Empire,” he rises from his seat and glides down to a table like an apparition and activates the lighted holoprojection of a planet.

“Uh, yes, my Lord,” Thrawn sees the lit table and analyzes the planet with the Auberesh written label and a series of datapoint that scroll around it. “A planet in what appears to be in the Unknown Region at this star location. Do you know of it.”

“My archaeologists believe there is a treasure trove of strange starships on the planet’s surface.”

“Starships?”

“Yes, strange ones. Ones that are built with elements responsive to the Force.”

Thrawn crossed his arms as the lights of his red eyes dart from one position of the holoprojections to another. “Is there scientific proof?”

Palpatine moves a button on the holoprojector well to switch the image to starship similar to modified Corellian Engineering Corvette 1500 that the Rebels have been seen to have. “Long range telemetry scans show what is called prototype ship model CEC YT-1300. It is a simple construction, but contains a stygium crystal for cloaking a ship. There are more ships that have similar technology and I want to reclaim them for reverse engineering by Sienar systems ships available to the Empire.”

“Who was the shipbuilder?”

Palpatine toothy grin glides across his face over Thrawn’s perceptiveness. “My former master’s master, Rugess Nome.”

Thrawn’s red-on-red eyes pierce into Palpatine’s yellow-red Sith eyes to gauge his seriousness. "Rugess Nome, a Bith, had a few interactions with the Chiss. He pandered for parts and Chiss shipbuilding expertise. He would always answer to a tattooed Rutian Twi’lek. Of course, I was not alive at that time, but the Chiss Ascendancy left them empty-handed.”

Palpatine watches Thrawn’s assessment of the known data as he sees a near human as smart being, but one without the Force. Unlike Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, Thrawn's motivation lacks emotion or morality. Tarkin indiscretions with women who are not his wife caused delays to his prized Death Star. Tarkin’s estrangement and philandering caused impaired decisions for the Empire and its spin on propaganda, especially his pronounced “Tarkin Doctrine” that uses fear to coerce star systems to comply with Imperial demands. Tarkin needed to complete the Death Star. But the Emperor decided on a backup plan for an advance weapon fleet. Those machinations in the Force requires him to sway Thrawn to assistance for this mission. “I want you to recover the entire fleet once you identify the exact location.”

“When do I start?” Thrawn studies the Emperor without showing he suspects a ruse.

The yellow-red eyes enhance their glow as Palpatine’s sly grin enhances that Thrawn buys into this mission. He switches the holoprojector image to an abstract painting. Its hues of orange, purple and silver colors shimmer across the painting like blood vessel that pulsate in various directions from a center that fibrillates at a fast paced alien heart. “The _Visage Presage_ by Jaynor of Bith commissioned by Rugess Nome. The painting is a map to the fleet treasure trove.”

Thrawn’s eyes widen as the painting seems to flex its skin when touched as the image rotates from holoprojection. He studies the forms of the painting, then presses a few buttons to examine its 3-dimensional structure with current data obtained by sensor scans. The scans list the painting’s consistency. Thrawn releases a small balk as his eye reflect excitement from a complex analysis of a painting in digital holoprojections. He paces around in directions never getting close to the Palpatine who tests him for analysis. After several moments, Thrawn stares at Palpatine to give his serious conclusions of the painting. Palpatine may have given a nod to proceed, but Thrawn enthrallment to share his thoughts with the leader of the Empire felt compelled to give a complete diagnosis of what he sees in the painting. “My Lord, the colors lack brilliance on the hologram. I would need to evaluate the real painting. Does it still exist?” Thrawn thought Palpatine need not bother answering that question because Thrawn would interrogate the entire digital land to find all images of the _Visage Presage_ and construct a fuller evaluation with Chiss technology. His minds reel of the possibilities and the next steps as he continues. “But my cursory evaluations stem from the strange components of the painting from the sensory data. It is as if one of the component is not paint, but highly proteinaceous. As if-“

“As if, what? Blood? Indeed your analysis serves you well, Admiral.” His swarthy grin returns. “Rugess Nome commissioned this painting and gave Jaynor the paints needed for this artwork. One of those components was blood of the beings on the planet, including a long extinct Terentatek, a Force responsive being.”

Thrawn stares at Palpatine for a long time to comprehend what he stated. Jaynor painted in blood. Blood of victims of a conquered planet, allegedly where the silent fleet rests. He places his finger under his nose and re-evaluates the painting as he shifts it from two dimension to three dimensions. “Terentatek feast off of Force users and are similar in size to a rancor. They have been made by ancient Sith with the dark side of the Force. You want me to use the painting as an expedition to find Nome’s fleet. You want this fleet to be intact, which means you will give me a battalion to pursue this expedition, and you want me to hand over this experimental fleet to Sienar Fleet Systems. Is that correct, my Lord?”

Palpatine stood across from him then returned to his throne room chair to sit. He could order Thrawn to do this mission and have another failure to retrieve the entire fleet or he could give Thrawn a choice to find a mutual interest for the both of them. “Only if you want, Admiral. A promotion I want to give you. But I can demote you because of human Imperial specieist rhetoric. Return my fleet, and you will be promoted to Grand Admiral of the entire Imperial fleet.”

“My Lord, you would promote my rank?”

“Because when you leave here, a Grand Admiral is what you will be. Just like my human admirals. I will make an announcement.”

Thrawn narrows his eyes in confusion and shakes his slightly. “My Lord, I do not aspire to such titles. My only concern is to serve at the will of the Empire and you, as my Emperor. I would have pursue this fleet to learn more of each ship’s construction out of curiosity,” Thrawn veils a thin smile.

“Indeed. I believe you would. The painting still exists. Thought lost for decades, it was discovered by the Empire. It recently resurfaced when the private collector had an unforeseen starship crash and perished,” his eyes glisten as he speaks. “Not many in the Empire know of its existence and as a result, it is up for auction on the planet, Lothal.”

“Governor Arinhda Pryce’s homeworld? Is she the private collector?”

Palpatine smiles slyly. “No. Actually, Pryce hates art. Her appreciation of art is in gray images of large builds of moon-sized spheres. Her sterility in art, music and culture are military precision similar to that of a Separatist B2 Battledroid. The private collector was an alien, and Imperial high intelligence, got him deported to his homeworld and had and unfortunate accident and subsequent death him upon his repatriation.”

Thrawn would ignore the xenophobic comment as it he was accustomed to those microaggressions. He would prove his strength in the battlefield. He stares at the painting as he ruminates on the mission. Then, he shrugs with a chuckle. “You know, I was unsure if I should fully disclose this caveat, but your painting is a star map, actually. But to know for sure, I will have to procure the painting and then find a way to interpret the map. I have a hunch that there is more to this map than this holointerpretation." He pauses to tilt the holographic image to see more pixels. "When is the auction?”

Palpatine presses a few buttons as Darth Vader enters with a few of his stormtroopers, as the holoprojector of the painting dissolves. “Lord Vader, give Grand Admiral Thrawn a crew of your Black Stormtroopers based on his selections for an expeditionary fleet to Lothal and beyond.”

Darth Vader bows to Palpatine. “As you wish.”

Thrawn ponders the magnificence of this painting as a truly complex work of art and privilege to study it. He realizes the meeting is over as his new mission begins.

“Lord Vader, my friend, what do you think of our new Chiss Grand Admiral?” The Emperor grins to Darth Vader.

“My Lord, I think he will serve us well. Chiss have always been loyal to the Sith.”


	4. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Kallus is tasked to bring Admiral Thrawn to Eriadu

Agent Kallus scours the holoscreen as he searches the galactic maps for reports of Rebel activity. Meticulous in his assessment to improve his rank and status in the Imperial Security Bureau of the Empire. He grimaces at each report among thousands about Rebel activity that springs on his holofeed. Then a notification appears from a report. He dreads this holocomm from Lothal about a Grand Admiral Thrawn from Coruscant as he mumbles. “Don’t answer this comm. Don’t answer it. How did a Chiss get promoted to the rank Grand Admiral?”

Thrawn let the holocomm ring to find this Agent Kallus whom he has never met. He appears in a hologram, finally as a scan reviews Agent Kallus’ rank. Thrawn chose him from his list of Imperials that can be molded under his leadership. But with Kallus’ sneer in his voice he immediately realizes Kallus was a speciests. “Commander Kallus, I am sending you the codes approved of a mandated mission by the Emperor himself. If successful, you will promoted in rank in a department of your choosing.”

“Does your inquiry have anything to do with the Imperial Security Bureau on Lothal?”

“Commander Kallus,” his red eyes probably the only distinguishable features. “Must I explain the state of operations to you? If it is at all possible as a mission mandate by the Emperor himself?”

Agent Kallus clears throat to conceal his hatred of aliens in order to speak to Thrawn. He knows very little about the Chiss. “Admiral, Lothal is a veldt grassland with savannahs planet with few natural estates dotted in various locales. The city center is main population 90% human, 10% alien,” he enunciates each species to show his xenophobic bigotry to make it clear to Thrawn about his place in Imperial society. “Most aliens are the servants of human families. Most of the families on the planets serve the Empire as high command officials. I believe you know Governor Pryce, I worked with her briefly on my stent on Lothal.”

Thrawn has the manners of a gentleman along with a scorn that could strike at any time. But he could hear the distinct quaver in the agent's voice that suggests a nervousness from their conversation. “Have there been any problems or disturbances on Lothal, Commander. I do hope there are no hindrances there.”

Agent Kallus wondered what kind of question was that. “Admiral, nothing that the ISB cannot handle,” he pauses to comprehend what Thrawn wants.  “Why do you ask?”

He studies his reaction for a moment when his intelligence reports say otherwise. “No reason. How are technology productions?”

“Ask Governor Pryce that question. The Imperial Security Bureau is here to ensure the safety of all humans – err – Imperial citizens.”

“How resourceful of you, I'll be sure to remember your name, for now, that is all I wanted to inquire. Should I know anything else?”

“Would you like for me to arrange a tour of our new crystalline chips for the Sienar ships?” Kallus analyzed the codes sent to him and was unsure of what it said, but it was of great surprise. Serve under a Chiss for a promotion? He wonders what this Chiss really wants.

Thrawn twists his head to see the Empire’s new technology. “Interesting. Send me a schematic blueprint when they become available. I'm sure they'll live up to expectations.”

Agent Kallus unsure if he could arrange a meeting for an alien intruder such as “Yes, Thrawn – err – Admiral,” his brows furrows. “Are you planning to come to Lothal?”

“I decided I'll be inspecting these Sienar crystal chips myself among other things. Expect my arrival in two standard days. And for your sake I hope there are no unpleasant surprises.” Thrawn cuts the transmission.

Agent Kallus facepalms on desktop about Thrawns arrival and mumbles. “Guess I stand under the ire of Pryce and the rest of the Lothal.”


	5. The Prelude To The Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rebels learn about the pricelessness of the "Visage Presage" Jaynor of Bith painting, but have no inkling of its value or meaning.

Hera Syndulla, the pilot of her modified CEC YT-1200 starship called the Ghost as it flies the crew to Eriadu to attend an art auction. She raises a hologram of the priceless painting. “Everyone, this is the _Visage Presage_ by Jaynor of Bith. It is a priceless painting. If we get that painting, we finance the entire Rebel cause.”

In his young kid thoughts, Ezra Bridger speaks. “What’s so big about a painting?”

Sabine Wren searches for information on her datapad. “That paint is strange. It's like the pigment and resin are living?” Then a holovid appears that involves a [commercial. “What this?”](https://youtu.be/i2FuD22_-w8)

Hera sits near her and watches. “What did you find Sabine?”

“It is a commercial from 100 cycles ago on the HoloNet and I found out more about the paint on that painting. Bizarre.”

Ezra pushes up to Sabine eagerly to see. “What’s it about?”

“It is some old commercial on the HoloNet, about some guy name Rugess Nome and his custom ships,” Sabine shakes her head in confusion.

“Well, at least we have a holo to watch,” Hera smiles. “Great research Sabine.”

“Who is Rugess Nome?” Ezra asks innocently.

“I don’t know. It was 100 years ago and the painting is by Jaynor of Bith. I really don’t see how this Rugess Nome is connected to this painting.” Sabine keeps searching for information on the HoloNet.

Ezra smarts off. “He’s probably no one of importance.”

“Looks like we'll find out soon enough,” Hera interjects.

Sabine rises from the seat to grab a few smoke bombs. “Ezra, we need to plant these party poppers for the auction.” She stuffs them into a satchel and she smiles. “Ezra, you're grabbing the painting.”

Ezra he cracked his knuckles and smiles. “Sure thing.”

“I made fifty of them. They're distractors. Plenty of color and smoke mainly,” She jumps on a speeder bike ready to get to the main hall where the auction is held. “C'mon Ezra!”

“I’m coming. This is where the fun begins.” He hops behind her.

“Don’t get fresh, it’s a job for the Rebels.”

Hera activates a holocom and sees a familiar face of a famed smuggler come from behind her. “Lando, this is your idea, you need to be here.”

As Sabine revs up the speeder bike she shouts to Hera. “We’ll be back and I’ll be in my fancy outfit when Lando slimes over here.”

Ezra sly grin shouts. “I’m not wearing anything fancy. I hope that’s ok?”

“Yeah, right Ezra, you’re not going to the ‘ball’, what do you know about art?”

“I know that there is a painting, and you paint and, what else is there?”

Sabine rolls her eyes and takes off to the main hall where the auction is.

 

 ***

 

When they arrive, Sabine climbs down the roof to the rafters with Ezra behind her. “Good, you need to stay hidden. I'm thinking we place the poppers, here and there.” With lithe like precision she moves between the rafters setting the smoke bombs on special places when she sees them. “Oh look, Governor Pryce and her stormtroopers.”

Ezra peers over her shoulder seeing Kallus without much thought as he places the poppers in more rafters. “That’ll work. It looks pretty loadbearing.”

She hands more to Ezra and whispers. “Ok. We just place one, here!” She slips dust crumbs gently careen onto Pryce’s hair.

Ezra stops her from slipping through the Force and pulls her back. “Whoa, careful.”

Sabine did not feel his hand and turns to him. “Thanks.” She peers down to see if Pryce notices and giggles when she suspects nothing with a pile of crumbs on top of her head. “C'mon let's add the rest.”

Ezra looks at Sabine as he bites his lip and raises his brow. “Sure. But let’s try this instead. It is faster” he levitates the party poppers and places them on each beam, gently.

Sabine watches Ezra with surprise as her eyes widen at how stronger he is in this Force. “Ok. We need to get out of here. I got to get my ‘game-face’ on,” She rolls her eyes when a probedroid hovers nearby on routine patrol. “No!” She reaches for her pistol as she hates probedroids. They scare her with their creepy arms and legs.

Ezra presses his hand on her hip when she grabs for her pistol. “Wait. Use them and we will be too loud. Probedroids have an automatic self-destruct. If I can trip that wire, we can escape and it will look like a malfunction.”

Sabine scoots back fearful. “Wait. How? Just get them away from me.”

With calm reassurance, Ezra closes his eyes and places his hand out to search through the droids internal mechanisms, and find the switch for self-destruct. “Just stay back and get ready to run,” he clips on wire, but the probedroid kept moving with no alarm. “Blast, I can’t get it. Run!”

Sabine furrows her brow in anger and jumps atop the roof to races to get to speeder near probedroid trying to scan them. She fires her pistol at its eye. “Still a dumdum, droid.”

Ezra ran behind her apologetic as he pleads with her. “I’m sorry,” A blast whizzes past his head. He turns and concentration on the probedroid to try a Force crush he learned from his master, Kanan Jarrus.

Sabine finds the speeder bike, jumps on the front seat, and then revs it up. “Let's get out of here before our plan is discovered.” She shoots the electrical box to the building to take the lights out and the entire block darkens, “That should keep them busy for a while.” She hears Kallus yell over the comlink.

“Yeah, let’s get back to the Ghost.” Ezra a bit sullen that his powers are less strong than he thought.

Sabine shouts to Ezra and turns away from the Ghost in a different direction. “Hold on!”  She set a few smoke bombs 10 blocks away that is no way near the Ghost with a smile to throw off the Imperials.

Ezra watches her precision. It was her greatest aspect that does not require the Force and he realizes her actions for a distraction. “Good call, Sabine.”

She laughs. “They're going to be angry,” she slings through traffic hoping no one is chasing them.

“We're fine! Keep going”

They finally arrive at the Ghost and Sabine jumps off the speeder bike. “Well. Now we have our distractions and the Imperials are off chasing stray animals.”

Hera crosses her arms in the messiness how young people could make matters worse. She looks at Lando Calrissian in frustration that he would risk them.

Lando gives a confident look at Ezra.“Just be ready to swing that saber if things get dicey. You ready, Sabine?” He snaked stormtrooper armor from one he killed days ago. “How do I look?"

Everyone gives a thumbs down.

"Okay, Hera I know I have a debt to pay. It will be repaid. The market is hot for this one. Easy money.” He flashes a reassured confident smile.

Hera uncrosses her arms and ignores Lando, while she determines if the coast is clear. “Alright. Sabine, Ezra, are you ready for the operation?”

“We know where it is. I'll get it as soon as the lights go out.” Ezra speaks up for a long moment of awkward silence.

Lando announces. “Alright, Sabine. Let's make moves. They aren't going to make themselves. Wish us the Force everyone.”

Sabine huffs as she exits her room on the Ghost and turns in her plum, formal length dress that Lando provided her. “Lando, I hate this. What about this retrieval team you keep talking about?”

Ezra eyes bulge from Sabine transformation. “Wow. You look nice.

Hera smiles pleasantly as if Sabine left for her rites of passage and debut. “We do have a mission to do. Let's get that painting.”

“Thanks Hera,” she glares at Lando. “We're leaving, and Ezra, Vor'e.” She walks to Lando’s borrowed landspeeder.

“Hurry. I don't feel like running into any Imperials. I deal enough of them when I fly.” Hera frowns with a wave like a worried mother over her daughter that goes out to her first dance.

“I'm coming,” Ezra shouts as a last minute thought. “I need to escort Sabine, you know to keep her safe.”

“Ezra, you're staying with Hera?” Sabine looks up to Lando if he would countermand her as he clunks in his stormtrooper armor.

Lando stands proud. “Yeah, Ezra you should stay with Hera. We need a small group for as much anonymity as possible.”

“Thank you, Ezra for keeping me company for this part of the mission,” Hera smiles wrapping her hand around his shoulder. “You can help me out by looking out for Imperials, when Lando and Sabine return, we can leave.”

Ezra sighs hopelessly as he watches Sabine’s lithe form distance from him. His heart opines at the loss to devote his time to her and grow with her from kids to adults. He drops his head and looks at Hera who hugs him with a grin on her face to reassure him that one day it will work out for them both.


	6. Artistically Speaking It Was Mandalorian Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabine Wren is convinced to remove her armor and dress in formal attire to this ritzy art auction on an Imperial stronghold planet. Lando Calrissian convinces her to steal the "Visage Presage" by Jaynor of Bith. A priceless painting held in a private collection for years. However, Admiral Thrawn, a Chiss has discovered this painting and learned of its true value, a map to a treasure trove which he intends to find for the Empire. Read what happens when this Rebel graffiti artist meets a renowned art critic-historian. High-jinks ensue.

Lando Calrissian escorts a resplendent Mandalorian young woman, Sabine Wren into the main hall of the cathedral art auction. A sea of people with politicians and dignitaries surround them. Lando studies Sabine's fidget wrangling of her nervous hands at the pompous affair. As a warrior in her armor she is an exemplary of perfection, but at this high-brow event, she is still a diamond in the rough in her her lovely formal plum dress and high heels.

Sabine unaware she fidgets stares at Lando in his stormtrooper armor uncomfortably and vents at the tight formality of the event. “I put on makeup and shaved for this?” A few Imperials glare at her as she shirks into Lando, and then she turns to see the art as her eyes glisten at the volume of famous art masterpieces shown for auctions. “Oh? Imperials appreciate art now?”

Lando sees the arrogance of the Imperials and holds on to Sabine to comfort her in her shaking nervousness. “Yes. Enjoy the art, my fair bird. You may never see some of these again. Take a look at this image,” A static hologram of many timepieces that shifts across the eye field of the artwork.

Sabine struggles to keep her voice low by crumbles as she twists head. “That's no Jaynor. That’s holographic arts. I didn't know this was a multimedia show.”

Lando whispers into an earshot of Sabine as he nods at the other attendees mostly males that stare at Sabine in her dress as a debutante. “Try not to make eye contact with the snooty patooties,” he shifts his blaster to protect Sabine from these salivating male Imperials as he reaches down to speak to her more. “Of course, not just one piece is up for sale at an auction. What do you think of this one?”

Sabine turns to view the image as her eyes widen and blushes as she barks. “Dances in Water by the Mon Calamari? What are the Imperials into these days?”

Lando chuckles as he tilts his head of the dishabille of Mon Calamari. “Perhaps someone here has a heart for art history or trophies of destruction.” He crosses his arms as he is drawn into the shimmery forms that seem to move as he tilts his head. “I can't call it. I hear the Imperials scour dying planets for art and culture before completely destroying it.”

  
Sabine balks loudly. “You could say that, again!” The few people around her stop mid-sip of their champagne or conversation as Sabine realizes her nervousness will expose her as a Rebel. She lowers her voice as she grabs a flute of champagne for a quick imbibe to quell her nervousness.

His concern elevates as he questions his choice to have Sabine be the decoy escort to the event. She desires to attend an art show, but if her behavior prevents them from mission completion, and exposes them, there would be serious implications. He grabs her elbow gently. “Thirsty?”

Sabine wraps her arms around herself with embarrassment and speaks in a whisper. “You're making me nervous without my pistols. Why don’t we separate and mingle.”

“Alright, my dear. I'm going to blend in with the other stormtroopers to see if I can find where they've hidden this Bith painting,” he hopes she can see his grin that admires her tenacity as a young woman.

Sabine smiles back and nods while grabs another champagne flute and sips it demurely when she slightly trips in her heels.

 

***

 

Admiral Thrawn’s Imperial shuttle lands outside the main hall as a wave of stormtroopers sped out of the shuttle. Five stormtroopers align left and right with rifles across their chests, the passage almost ceremonial. Thrawn was with his Commander Jaken and they made their way to Agent Kallus who directs the troops. “I was expecting a welcoming from you, or your security at least. There was no one.”

Agent Kallus points at the minions in their final set ups for the event and yells at the stormtroopers slow pace. He tilts his head as he eyes the blueness of the Chiss skin and sees the rank of Thrawn. “Admiral. I see you’ve found your way here. Ready for the tour of the facility at this moment with the abundance of this art?”

Coolly, Thrawn narrows his red-in-red eyes at the utter disorganization. “Let's not bother with the tour at the moment? Tell me, are you ready for the art show?” It was a question of how much Kallus know about the Visage Presage and the priceless painting.

Grand Moff Tarkin enters the art show with hundreds of the nouveau riche of Lothal accompanied by two very attractive human women. “A security nightmare,” he utters as his brow furrows with a migraine.

Thrawn enters the auction with his captain, his red-in-red eyes and blue skin that makes him stand out, unfortunately in the times of Imperial xenophobia and speciesism. Then, he sees Tarkin raise his arm to call him over. Thrawn complies with his men and stares at Tarkin with presumption. An admiral is a rank position in the military. A moff is an elected position. But to play this human supremacy game, Thrawn salutes Tarkin even though it was not custom.

Tarkin waves off the salutation and grins to shake Thrawn’s hand. “Admiral, the Emperor did not tell me of your arrival to my homeworld. If I had known, we would have had a parade of welcome.”

“Governor Tarkin, it was a last minute decision by the Emperor. I only serve at the will of the Empire and the Emperor,” he nods in deference and avoids the oversights of Kallus. “Will you bid on any of the art pieces shown here?”

“Me?” Tarkin balks. “No. Since this dull event is on my homeworld, I thought I would make sure everything runs smoothly, given all that has happened lately.”

“Ah, yes. Well, the Empire will prevail as we stand at the greatness of its leadership.” Thrawn’s diplomacy endears Tarkin to him, predictably. Other Imperials that surround them watch in amazement of Thrawn’s cool demeanor.

Kallus yells into his gauntlet comlink to ensure security with sternness. “Lyste? Confiscate the paintings? I don't think so. Speak to the leaders of Eriadu, this is their deal.”

The ire across Tarkin’s face as he sees Kallus’ folly. “I’ve seen enough and I must bid you goodbye, Admiral,” his eyes Kallus who stands in shock as he sees Tarkin and Thrawn together in conversation.

Thrawn’s eyes light and shift from one person to the other with their unspoken exchange. “The Empire lacks unity compare to the Old Republic. Interesting,” he silently muses.

Kallus shoulder fall when Tarkin leaves without acknowledgement. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Thrawn’s hand and his face nods to understand. Kallus tilts his head and starts to understand that his hatred will get him killed.

Thrawn walks to view the art casually until he sees the _Visage Presage_ from a distance. “That is a rather curious name,” then he notices the girl who studies the painting intently. He turns to Kallus and other hosts. “She seems rather odd. Is she familiar to you?”

Yogar Lyste recent advanced to the rank of lieutenant and accompanies Kallus in his service as he squints at the lovely young lady in the plum dress. “She seems vaguely familiar, but I can't place her sir.”

“Yeah, Lieutenant, check her invitation,” Kallus grins slightly as he thinks he recognizes her. “Today...she looks absolutely stunning – err – I mean we should know all our guests well.”

  
Lyste nods to Kallus to execute his orders and walks over to Sabine and yanks her arm. “Excuse me miss. Do you have an invitation?”

“Uh? My stormtrooper detail has it,” Sabine grins with embarrassment “Um, he's that stormtrooper over there,” she nonchalantly points to a crowd stormtroopers cavorting together.

Lyste caught on to her ruse as he narrows his eyes with a much more stern voice. “Please come with me, miss, while I inquire of him,” he yanks her bicep and pushes her over to a stormtrooper that she recognizes as Lando. “Excuse me trooper, uh, operating number, TK-74-63, you will display this woman's invitation, at once.”

Lando in a smooth cool voice reaches into his pack to hand a flimsi to Lyste as he glares into his eyes. “Yes, sir. Her invitations. She is the Princess Selen Yasor daughter of the distinguished Lord En Saba Yasor of Bespin.”

Sabine wrestles her arm away from Lyste with a cruel glare as she walks away with a casual stride to the painting that mesmerizes her. When she finds it, she reads the name in ancient Bith script and examines the lines as it dawns on her that it is the masterpiece as she mouths. "The _Visage Presage_ by Jaynor of Bith". She coughs as her throat goes dry and a lump blocks her airways. She suffocates as she mouths. “My maker,” she takes great backward strides to distance herself from the painting that seems to possess her when suddenly she bumps into Thrawn, spilling her drink on his boots and falls to his ankles. “Uh. I am so sorry sir.”

Thrawn looks down at his boots then stood there for the most part unfazed. His red eyes analyze her filled with intimidation. Then he looks into her huge pleading brown eyes with a faint memory returning to him. A thin barely discernible grin parts his face as he projects authority in his voice. “It's quite alright, young lady,” he places out his hand to lift her up to face him. “Are you enjoying the auction?”

Sabine stares into his red eyes in shock of a brief memory that flashes in her mind. “I Uh?” Then Lyste grabs her again as she regains her confidence without taking her eyes off Thrawn .“I would if your henchmen would unhand me. Brigands!” She made sure everyone heard her as she stomps with petulant arrogance.

Lando races to her side and nudges her gently in a whisper. “Who's the blue face?” He slightly gestures to Thrawn.

Sabine waves Lando away as she mouths slowly. “Don't know? An admiral,” turns away from Thrawn and mouths to Lando. “Comm Hera, now.”

Thrawn studies all the non-verbal communications surrounding him. But something about the girl brings joyful memories of his past. A drawback of the Chiss, memories that fail to serve progress were meaningless and forgotten. Of course no outsider knew of that disability. Chiss survive with purpose in their lives. Chiss do not waste time, which includes daydreaming and meditation. Chiss never procrastinate and if done, punishment. Thrawn’s Chiss teachers taught him put asunder his idle thoughts and daydreams. But, art interpretation, critique and analysis supplants his foolish dawdle into novel philosophical ideas and military strategy. But when he sees Sabine, her name reminds him of a folly he once held dear, but completely could not recall. He had to know more and he held up a hand to Lyste to intervene, calmly. “It's alright, Lieutenant. I'll be with her. Let her go,” he smiles more as her familiarity resolves in his mind and he pretends not to hear her stormtrooper’s out of regulation and unethical non-Imperial comment.

Sabine smiles at Thrawn oddly enough as if they were once great friends. But then she realizes he is a Chiss in the Empire. “Sir, you're an Imperial Admiral,” Then she looks around to the others that gossip and hob nob mill with eyes as they watch them with their extravagance as they are blessed to be among the invited at this event. “Do you like art?”

Thrawn conceals a youthful grins speaks perfunctory. “Of course I am an Imperial Admiral. Who would dare impersonate an Imperial officer?” Her surprise was understandable. After all non-humans were not allowed in imperial ranks. “I do enjoy art. Though, only a few truly take pleasure in understanding it.” He shifts his volume lower as he moves closer to the _Visage Presage_ painting. “What do you think of this painting here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece was performed on Twitter in 2015 and has been extensively modified to fit the current timeline in Star Wars Rebels. It is a work in progress. Like this? Support us: bit.ly/SWR77


	7. Art Critique

“You mean, this piece? An odd direction by Jaynor. I mean the color scheme is too loud for the shape and forms to what the image conveys. He usually explosive pattern that clasps for your attention and draws you to the center,” Sabine Wren tilts her head while she studies the center.

Admiral Thrawn’s heart lifts as he hears a better analysis than most of his mentees, but knows there are huge gaps. “I believe Jaynor created this piece in his younger days. Its patterns are odd, but they do mean something,” he studies the girl as she speaks with a slight accent to realize her outbursts that confirms his suspicion as Mandolarian. Thrawn deduces that she was Mandolarian and poor manners. “What do you think the piece means?”

“It means,” her voice drifts as her inability to examine changes in his eyes body language without her helmet heads up display. “The patterns go to a far off place?”

Thrawn took a breath before his lecture of the young girl. “The Bith by culture, are natural scientists, mathematicians, and engineers. They pay a lot of attention to detail. Standard study of their culture and history would indicate the reasons for the forms and brush strokes. Examination of this painting shows that every strike, every tiny speck was placed there with intention.  The circles are scattered, the colors: purple, red, yellow, and blue resonate a cacophony of musical notes disparate of the Bith who are great musicians. It means that this painting has more data than aesthetic. Its true meaning lies in its past. The purple describes the bruises, the blue and black describe transitions from a pure blue sky to dark, black pollution,” he points to another area of the painting. “Those circles there describe the diameters of the biological weapons used. Their impact often leaving the Nozho–Weogar War. Jaynor captures this civil war itself in the painting as the red describes the blood of the indigenous population that was spilt into the planetary craters. If you look closely you could even see a Bith in the painting. I'm surprised no one has ever been able to figure this painting out,” he walks around it as he places his finger under his nose with pride in his analysis.

 

***

Hera receives Lando’s comm. “Copy that. Lando did you get the painting?” She reviews the cam footage from his helmet. “A Chiss Admiral? He's with the Empire isn't he?”

Lando stands outside as he speaks quietly to Hera. “I can't get it yet. The Chiss guy is speaking to Sabine about the painting. Hold on,” he hides from the rest of the stormtroopers that man their posts. “Yes, he's with the Empire. We have to move according to plan. I don’t know the abilities of this guy.”

Hera calms herself. “Tell us what you know so far about this admiral. In order for this mission to work, we all have to work together.”

Lando looks from side to side and speaks into the comm. “He's telling Sabine some things about the painting. We might need him keep talking, while- Hold on.”

Hera prepares the ship for the getaway. “Perfect. Sabine needs to keep him distracted and we make our move NOW. Get the painting. That's an order.”

Ezra stands next to Hera and senses the painting. “I feel, cold,” he said distantly. The painting felt wrong. It was the same feeling when he fought Darth Vader.

 

***

Sabine leans into the painting to examine the spots that Thrawn outlined, she caresses her neck carefully to press subcutaneous neck sensors for a 60 second delay before the party poppers explode. She feigns her excitement. “Oh my, Admiral, you were right. That was impressive. Most impressive,” Then, a loud sonic boom echoes in the room with explosions and smoke.

Kallus re-enters the room enraged as fire sprinklers activate. The stormtroopers stampede into the room as alarms blare throughout the facility

Thrawn looks at Sabine amid the confusion and explosions, and then he orders two of his men to grab her. Throughout the commotion among the crowd as patrons mob them. “Take her to the _Entropy_. I will deal with her later.” Thrawn left the auction to inform Grand Moff Tarkin.

Sabine looks at Thrawn’s men a mix of Chiss and humans as they grab and arrest her. “What? No! No! I am the daughter of Yasor,” she turns to see the Ghost fly over and mumbles. “Captain, I failed."

Thrawn submits a report to Tarkin of the incident and he boards his ship. His men with lean muscle holds Sabine down and confirm that she would not be going anywhere. With a sneer in his voice he eyes her evenly. “You are under Imperial arrest. I'd be quiet if I were you. As of now you are the only person without a proper invitation, henceforth our prime suspect.”

Sabine mouth drops in shock. “I am the daughter of Lord Yasor of Naboo! How dare you!”

“We'll be doing a full DNA sequence analysis to see if that's true.” She was taken into the shuttle and up to the _Entropy_.

“And if I refuse? By Imperial law, I have to consent to that,” she looks for signs of Hera.

“We have records of every citizen born in the Empire over the past 20 years. Wherever your past may be or if you even changed there will still be a record.”

 

***

Meanwhile, Lando wears an Imperial officer’s uniform as he carries a briefcase. He jumps into action and grabs the painting and folds it in his briefcase. Then he yells on his comm. “I've got the painting and ready to deliver it to you, Hera, but I’ve got to get back inside to get Sabine!”

Hera barks back to Lando.  “Some expert you turned out to be. Ezra, get Sabine, I'll cover you,” she flies the Ghost to wipe out the TIE fighters and picks up Lando and searches for Sabine. She screams. “You left Sabine? You fool. We need to go back and get Sabine.”

Thrawn hails the Ghost. “Give up! You will not win.”

Hera grumbles and rolls her eyes as she has heard many Imperial threats of her failure as a pilot. “That's what you think.”

Kallus heads to his Star Destroyer in a Lambda shuttle. “That Chiss has no idea how those Rebels confound them.”

Tarkin waits for the report as he crosses his arms and grits his teeth. “Good, they have the thief.”

Hera shouts to Lando in frustration. “I’m on my way to get her! I'm busy trying to and avoid becoming a ghost here. Ezra, shoot at the TIEs.”


	8. Chiss Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rebels stole the mysterious painting by Jaynor of Bith, called Visage Presage, but Thrawn has taken Sabine as his prisoner and interrogates her to find the painting and her friends. She endures his torture and hopes her friends come save her. But they must exchange the painting for her. At what lengths will the Rebels get Sabine back.

The troopers return Sabine to her holding cell on Thrawn’s flag ship, the _Entropy_. “Are you comfortable?” Thrawn said in an icy tone.

Sabine smarts off. “Just read me my rights and give me my holocomm.” Sabine delivers her icy tone while she crosses her arms, but fearful of her future.

“You see,” he paces outside the cell. “We are not exactly in Imperial territory at the moment. We entered Hutt space an hour ago, so unfortunately your rights mean nothing here.”

“But you do follow an Imperial regimen and this ship is a Star Destroyer. And while in your ship, I'm in Empire!”

A stormtrooper announces. “Quiet.”

“Unfortunately, the Empire will not see it that way. Trooper, hand me her file.” He extends his hand as the datapad is given to him.

Sabine hems. “It doesn't matter what you see in my file, it's filled with lies anyway.”

He opens the file and reviews it. “You'd be surprised.” He read it then stares at her before a second reading. “Sabine Wren. Age 21. Mother, deceased and a Mandalorian Death Watch member and the father...” he closes the file. “So you are not exactly who you say you are.”

Sabine glares at Thrawn. “Dr. Wren to you. She's dead thanks to you, idiot!”

Thrawn smarts back. “That is beside the point. You lied about having an invitation to the auction and you lied about your identity. You are our prime suspect as of now, and you will tell me,” he stalks to her in a very cool tone. “Where is the painting?" He motions for the stormtroopers to enter the cell to force her to comply.

Stormtroopers rush into the holding cells and grip her biceps as they rip parts off her formal dress.

“Ouch. Watch the dress,” Sabine sneers and glares toward Thrawn. “Sorry, don't have enough room in my pocket, idiot.”

“Funny,” he gave the go to the stormtrooper. “Answer me now, or more than your fancy dress will be torn.”

An ensign enters respectfully. “Sir! The IT-O droid is ready.”

“If I had the painting, it would be with me. I have no idea where he's taking it. Why do you want to know?”

He raises his hand to halt the droid. “ _He?_ ”

But the droid proceeds with the truth serum and injects her neck quickly as the juice inside the syringe drains into her. Her body weaves as she wrings around and her eyes droop. “Yeah...”

He glares at the ensign for not following his command, then watches Sabine succumb to the effects of the truth serum. “You'll start to feel it in a few minutes." He waits. “Now, who took the painting?” Thrawn examines her, then speaks to the stormtroopers. “Status report. Is she compliant?”

“Sir! We've injected her with serum, twice, and she is compliant with any commands you give her,” a stormtrooper yanks up her head to answer Thrawn.

Sabine looks at a distortion of Thrawn like a piece of art. “You know,” she hiccups. “You are really Kebiin with those hukaat of yours.” She snort laughs.

Thrawn ignores her snide comment and restarts the interrogation. “Now, Sabine, right? Where is the painting? I do not want to pry more than I have to.”

Sabine looks at him, and then her face becomes flush to a green tint. She vomits on his and the stormtrooper’s boots. “The _Visage Presage_ painting belongs in a museum!”

“You’re right, an Imperial museum. That painting is our property, not yours. Now spill it before we give you an overdose.” The IT-O Interrogation Unit refills the syringe.

Sabine gazes on his eyes and widens hers as she sees the needle refill. Her face turns red when she understands Thrawn’s comment. “It's the people’s painting. Art belongs to everyone, not for some silly collection of artifacts to adorn your posh palace. Why don’t you get on with it and kill me, Mitth’raw’nuruodo!”

His eyes in shock as he busts open the cell door while the other stormtroopers had her in their clutches. “I might just have to, girl since you are not giving us anything, but no. You will serve a purpose. A purpose just like that painting serves.” his dark blue hands clasps her delicate cheeks the entire time he spoke as he hints of his ill intent.

The stormtroopers chuckle to see how harsh Thrawn could become as they mumble. “She’s broken.”

 

***

 

Ezra sends a message under stolen Imperial codes. “I demand to speak to Admiral Thrawn.”

Sabine hears the comlink and she gives a drunken sly grin. “Oh now you're in trouble, the Je'tii. Yeah.”

“Am I?” He glares at Sabine and throws her to the side of the cell wall.  “Should I be? I'm the one with a Star Destroyer and hundreds of TIE fighters.” He leaves to return on the bridge as the admiral to reply. “This is the Imperial Star Destroyer _Entropy_. You demand nothing. I will let you state your business.”

An ensign whispers to Thrawn to show a hologram. “Sir, it's them, the Rebels with the ship, called the _Ghost_.”

Hera orders the crew to be ready. “Ezra, head to the cannons and fires a warning shot over the bow of the Star Destroyer.”

Sabine’s head hits the wall of her cell then feels a blast across the Star Destroyer. She grins. “It’s Hera. They’ve come to save me.”

Thrawn unmoved by the blast as all their turbo lasers focus on _Ghost_ as well as the tractor beams are primed to tow in the ship. He announces into the hologram. “Interesting. It is them. Let’s see what they have to say.” He waits on their request.

Hera yells. “Alright, let’s go Ezra and evade those shots as she circles the ship on an attack pattern.”

Thrawn listens to the sounds of their ships closely as he watches the audio visual representation appear on a holoscreen. He predicts their motion and tells his gunner to fire on his mark. “Fire!”

Within that instant, one turbo laser shot removes a hyperdrive engine that slows the _Ghost_ and leaves it adrift. Hera and her crew are in shock at the precision of the shot.

Thrawn grins at his superior tactical skills. “Your ship is derelict, surrender the painting immediately or I will kill your crew mate, Sabine Wren, and destroy your ship.”

It take a long time before Hera answers the comlink. “What about an exchange? The painting for Sabine? She’s just a girl.”

Ezra jumps on the comlink. “I’ll have you know that something is way wrong with that painting and it will make you sick if you keep staring at it.”

“Ezra, get off the comm!” Hera cries.

“So you're the one who knows there's more than meets the picture,” he threw the thought around his mind. “Very well. It's a trade. Proceed to Hanger 25B.”

Several Imperial officers object to an exchange between the Admiral and the Rebels. But they refrain from direct inquiry and follow Thrawn’s orders to open the shields.

The _Ghost_ limps to Hangar 25B, but there is a contingency, which she tells Ezra. “As soon as we have Sabine, fire. Understand?”

Ezra nods. “Don’t take off until you have Sabine and me.”

Sabine in a drunken stupor shouts. “Eh Kebiin'vode with the big hukaate! Pirunir sur'haaise.” She gives an obscene gesture.

Thrawn watches her in disgust and is dead silent for once. The stormtroopers march her to the hanger, the exchange would go accordingly, he would make sure of it. On the second level of the hanger were at least forty snipers, ready if plans should fail. Now, he waited for them to exit their ship. As he sees on child exit the ship he looks down at his tiny frame and frowns how this child could be a threat. He realizes the child may have Force powers, but he was not sure of it. “Let me explain how this will work. This exchange is simple, it will stay simple. Hand over the painting and we'll hand over your friend.” The snipers were ready if the boy tried anything funny.

A stormtrooper pushes drunken Sabine out while holding a gun to her head.

Hera walks out to meet with Ezra in the negotiation when she hears the Chiss give his demands. “Let's just get this over with.” But her hand wavers over her blaster ready for anything.

Ezra holds the painting in a crate box and walks to Thrawn. “Ok. Release Sabine.”

Sabine’s knees weaken as she waves and hiccups to the crew. “Hi everyone!” She giggles that turns to rage. “Let me go, now you idiots.” She jerks out of their hands in her torn vomit stained formal gown barefooted. Her high-heels disappeared.

“That is not how this works. You come into Imperial space and onboard an Imperial Star Destroyer and you are demand terms? No, you will bring the painting over to us first.”

Stormtroopers lifts blasters and rifles higher for a better line of site.

“Fulcrum wouldn't want me risking this,” Hera mumbles to herself.

“Admiral, this painting speaks to me. Unless you have the Force you will need me to unlock it and I won’t move until Sabine is released.”

Sabine wiggles from the stormtrooper’s grip. “Release me, now. You said we're in Hutt space, you Blue idiot Chiss.”

Thrawn turns to see them. “I can use help to decipher the painting. But you will do that first, because I would really hate to see you gamble your friend’s life away for a single painting. Now, you will do your part, first, and then you will have my word as an Admiral that we will let her go.” The snipers lower their weapons to prove their cooperation as they tilt their heads and click down their weapons. But Sabine’s whines cause a stormtrooper to apply a shock stick to her. She appeared threatening.

Hera grumbles to Chopper. “These Imperials have lack of respect. It makes me sick.”

Ezra had one more trick up his sleeve but it involved getting back to Sabine. “Alright.” He lifts the crate through the Force and hands the painting to Thrawn. “Now, release Sabine.”

Sabine winces from the shock and falls to the floor. Ezra’s loud boots give move as the painting is given away to Thrawn. She hiccups. “No Ezra. No. Please Ezra. Not for me.”

“There. She's all yours. Now if you want to leave without all the twenty plus tractor beams on your tail, I suggest you decipher this painting aboard my ship.” Thrawn replies as they activate the closing of the hanger bay doors slowly.

While Hera chuckles at Choppers response, she sees the hanger bay doors close. She turns on the engines of her ship. “Oh no.” she mouths to Ezra as if he can listen. “Ezra, if we want to get out of here, now is the time.”

He quickly used the Force to snatch the painting and shove Sabine toward the _Ghost_. “Hera now!” He ignited her lightsaber and ran for the ship.

Drunk by the truth serum, Sabine’s confusion quickly wanes as she stumbles and rips her dress to board the Ghost. “What just happened?”

Thrawn eyes narrow as he watches the _Ghost_ lift off and fly off the ship. “I am an Admiral on an Imperial Star Destroyer that has several gravity wells that could be used, not just one. However, he orders of them to reel that ship back into their space and bring them in with the tractor beam.

The stormtroopers move the knobs as the large superturbolaser fires at ship. “Sir! Orders?”

Hera feels the pull of her ship and she shoots at the Imperials. “Good to see you again Sabine. Ezra, get ready for the jump to hyperspace.” She prepares for takeoff and pushes the pedals hard.

Sabine falls to the ground and struggles to rise due to the truth serum drugs. She sits on the floor of the ship, exhausted.

Thrawn activates an Interdictor and activates his gravity wells. The field disables their hyperspace jumps within a certain range. He clasps his jaw as his patience wears thin on idiocy. He waits for the results from the pulldown of the _Ghost_.

The gravity wells from the interdiction snaps ship back within blaster range. TIE fighters accompany a specially designed Lambda shuttle as it lands on the _Ghost_. Stormtroopers in spacesuits with droids descend to open the ship.

Alarms blare throughout the _Ghost_. “What the? We're supposed to jump into hyperspace? We're stuck.”

Ezra screams. “It’s an interdictor blast!” He slams his fists into the console angrily.

Sabine sighs stumbling to room checking her paint nozzles with paint and her weapons. She dons her armor ready to fight. “Blue asshole. A Chiss Admiral with a Star Destroyer and an Interdictor. How many more ships will he need?”


End file.
